Lux(uria) Aeterna

Transcendence, Susan Seddon Boulet

For a finite one

who covets the infinite,

the drunkenness of

self-veneration:

i awaken in the dead of night

to two hands

scanning my star-latticed body

small palms gliding

three inches from

silver-dappled flesh

and while asking myself

just what . . .

i recognize that 

i 

i

am craving my touch

my hands

my fingers

grazing

grasping

seeking new edens

in which to dwell

rendering the body of my body

crimson-raw

and mottled with self-love

i 

i 

am loving me

feeling the flush of my impatient caress

here . . . and here

and . . . h     e                r                                 e

hearing my head’s voice wonder

is it a dream?

hearing my own voice whisper

more

while the sun enters stealthily this night

this temple through a secret door

like an unexpected disciple

like an eternal light

bathing me with golden nectar

anointing with lip . . . and lash . . .

and ego . . . the eyelets of my flesh

and licking me dry with adoration.